


Strike of midnight

by naturegirlrocks



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Jim and Sebastian are stepbrothers, John looses a shoe, M/M, Second challenge, Sherlock makes a lot of deductions, Tumblr: letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is forced to work as a medic at a sex club to help Harry with her debt. One evening he gets an invitation to a ball.</p><p>Based on the story of Cinderella (though more the Disney version, than trad.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike of midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betad, all mistakes are mine.

Once  upon a time in a country not far away in a big city called London there lived a woman. Her name was Harriet Watson, though she prefered to be called 'Harry'. The only thing Harry loved more than women and drink was her younger brother John. 

John was a kind man who was a medical doctor and had served in a war as a soldier. He was the pride of his sister's eye, so when he got injured and was sent home from the war, she immediatly offered him to stay with her in her nice house. John greatfully accepted, but only until he had finished his therapy and was able to get a job.

Soon it became clear to Harry that even if she had her brother and her nice house there was something missing in her life. John suggested that she should find a girlfriend, and maybe give up the drink. Harry did the first but didn't bother with the latter. She fell in love with a beautiful woman named Irene Adler who owned a very exclusive S&M-club. 

Irene had already been married twice before. Both times to rich elderly men who both had died soon after their wedding. From each marriage she had inherited, besides a lot of money, a son. 

The sons, named Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran, called her 'mother' even though they was the same age as her. Irene loved her stepsons very much, and doted on them just like a real mother would. Jim took care of the S&M-club's finances, while Sebastian was responsible for the bar and inventory, Irene was the high mistress of all.

When Irene moved in with Harry and John in the house, Jim and Sebastian came with her. 

Harry got in more and more trouble because of her drinking, soon she owed Irene, and several other people, a great debt. It grew even more when she was sent away to expensive rehab clinics, that constantly failed to make her sober. Her health was deteriorating fast.  

One day Harry got very ill, and a week later she almost died because of heart failure. John was devastated because he loved his sister very much, even if she was so much trouble. Irene offered to pay for Harry being sent to a hospice, if John agreed to take over his sister's debt. John agreed, even though it was nothing he would be able to pay with his meagre army pension.

John had to work as a medic at Irene's club. He took care of the bartenders, the bouncers, the hosts, the hostesses, and also the cleaners, if they accidentally injured themselves. He helped when the private games went to far. He issued treatment when muscles and tendons had been pulled, when bruises and cuts had to be looked after, and when the masters and mistresses needed their whipping arm looked over. And even if it _wasn't_ that kind of club, he distributed viagra, salves, lubes, condoms, antibiotics, and the occasional contraceptive. 

When he didn't play medic he worked at tending the bar, bussing tables, cleaning the floors, setting up the different playrooms, or made sure all equipment was in clean order.

John also took care of the household at home, working hard every day. Irene, Jim, and Sebastian didn't cook. Neither did they clean or pick up after themselves. Their greatest interest was money and the things you could get with it. All they seemed to do was to work at the club, buy clothes and to party. The three of them, John noted, also slept together. 

John fell asleep every night feeling miserable. The loud music in the club didn't sit well with his PTSD, and the hard work strained his injured shoulder. His hands were trembling every night as he fell asleep.

()))))))))) 

Now, in the city of London there also lived a very powerful man named Mycroft Holmes. He was known to hold a minor position in the British Government, though his actual position was that he basically ran it.  

Like Harry, Mycroft had a younger brother who he adored more than anything. Problem was that his brother, Sherlock Holmes, held little regard for his big brother, his own health, or for mankind as a whole. Sherlock was a consulting detective, and lived for science and the art of deduction. Needless to say he was a genius, and also very alone.

Mycroft was constantly worrying about Sherlock. He thought that his brother needed some other company than corpses, criminals and police officers. The two later didn't even like Sherlock, except for a Detective Inspector Lestrade, but he was really was more of a working buddy than a friend. Therefore Mycroft decided to host a great party so that Sherlock could meet some people. 

Officially the party would be a charity ball for the British Museum. Mycroft made sure Sherlock would be there by requesting that one of the exhibitions would be about the history of Law and Order. Sherlock liked that kind of thing, if only to correct all the mistakes of the exhibition. Of course Sherlock knew what his brother was up to, but he let himself be talked into going to the ball since he was bored, and Lestrade insisted for him him to go.

Mycroft was glad over Leatrade's slight influence on Sherlock and often asked the Inspector to help him out in situations like these. 

Sherlock didn't put much hope in Mycroft's socialising plans succeeding. He was happy being by himself, he always had and it was preposterous to think anything else.   

\-----------------

One of Irene's guests was a high politician. Irene had asked him to get her and her sons invitations to the ball. When he visited to hand them over to her, he also gave a extra invitation to John on the way out because John had helped him medically after a particularly intense session. Irene, Jim and Sebastian wasn't very pleased about this. They doubted that John would fit in at the fancy ball. 

John was quite excited about it though, he was looking forward to getting away from the hard work at the club if just for a night. A ball at the British Museum with the top notch of London was defiantly something to look forward to. Since he didn't have anything nice to wear he planned on wearing his dress-uniform, it still fitted quite well. 

“Indeed,” said Jim, dressed in his best Westwood suit, looking John over. “It's mildly acceptable. To bad about the missing buttons.”

“What buttons?” asked John.

“This one,” Jim pulled hard at a shiny gold button on John's chest so the thread broke and the button fell off. “And this one,” he pulled another one before John had the chance to back away. “Shoddy work if you ask me. I thought uniforms were supposed to be durable.”

“And the stains,” noted Sebastian, wearing his nice Gaultier suit, touching John with noticeably dirty fingers. “Didn't you wash it?”

“John?” said Irene coming into the room, looking very _femme fatal_ in a green lace dress by a designer John didn't know the name of. “Molly twisted her ankle, you need to take her to the hospital. Don't worry about the ball, it's fine to be late... Are you wearing that?”

“Not any more,” sighed John leaving the room.

John could hear the sniggering behind him, and he squeezed his hand around the two buttons so hard it hurt. Since Irene had asked him to take the girl to the hospital, and not look at her himself, showed that she wanted him out of the way.

John went to the dressing room where Molly sat waiting. She had a sad smile on her heavily made up face, because she could see he was miserable. She was dressed in a red latex dress with deep cleavage. Only her right leg was covered by a above-the-knee high-heel black vinyl boot, the other leg was on the bench with a ice-pack on the ankle. 

“Oh,” she said. “Look at your uniform! How sad! I thought you looked gorgeous in it.”

“Thanks,” John sat down to look over her foot, it was quite swollen so at least it wasn't a total trick from Irene's side. “How did this happen?”

“Jim...” she didn't need to say more. “Where we're you going?”

“I was going to a ball, but I guess that is out of the question now...” he sighed. “But what is a posh ball at a museum? It could be dull, and boring, and dull, and...” he sighed again. “...simply wonderful...”

Molly patted his head, far more gently than a woman who whipped men for a living was supposed to do. She glanced to the door to make sure they were alone. 

“You know...” she bit her lower lip for hint of a moment. “I haven't had time to cancel my next client yet. He always wears these amazing suits. I'm sure you can borrow it while he is in session. You are about the same size.”

“I couldn't...” John protested but the dominatrix in Molly came out and placed a stern finger on his lips. 

“You can,” she insisted. “His sessions usually last until half passed twelve, so if you leave the ball at midnight it should be fine. At least you get a few hours of dancing in.”

“But your ankle...?”

“Wrap it up tightly, Doc. I'll find another pair of shoes.”

“Why are you helping me?” John asked hesitantly. 

“You are much better than this place, John,” she kissed his forehead. “And you helped Danielle that time she had that violent client. She's my best friend. Now don't worry, take off your uniform, and I'll send someone down with the suit.”

“Thank you so much,” John hugged her, and then hurried to get the first aid kit.

()()()))))))))

At the British Museum Sherlock Holmes was bored. To his great dismay, the museum curator had actually gotten a decent expert to the Law and Order exhibition, and there wasn't much for Sherlock to correct. The curator was a friend of Mycroft's, so he had probably been warned about Sherlock beforehand. 

Sherlock wasn't the type to mingle so he stood back and watched the people passing by, making very clever deductions about them to himself. Sherlock was a very clever man when it came to deductions.

Because Sherlock as a very handsome man he was approached several times. The guests were amiable and Sherlock was rude. His philosophy was to never try to hide his true nature, if not for a case, lest he were to disappoint and anger the other party. Even the few persons that Mycroft and Lestrade brought to his attention didn't hold for his scrutiny. 

Only one man, introduced to him by a colleague of Mycroft's, seemed slightly interesting. His name was Jim Moriarty and he asked Sherlock to dance. 

By deduction Sherlock found out that Jim was very intelligent, enigmatic, had good taste in clothing, was sleeping with his stepbrother, and a very good dancer. The stepbrother, Sebastian, was also a good dancer, but didn't hold up to Jim's intelligence, though he made up for it by pressing Sherlock tightly to a firm muscular body. 

It was also not difficult to conclude that the two men would very much like to have Sherlock between them in their bed, or just in the cloakroom. 

He had half a mind to accept them when a new man entered the room. The man was almost inconspicuous, wearing a borrowed blue suit, and military haircut. The black shoes were defiantly from a dress-uniform. What drew Sherlock to the man was his shy, but excited smile. That, and he seemed genially interested in the exhibition. 

Sherlock tore himself away from Jim and Sebastian, and their young stepmother who somehow had become a part of their group, and headed for this new man. 

“John Dillinger was considered a modern day Robin Hood by some,” said Sherlock seeing that the man was looking over a photo display and a thirties gun in a glass case. “He was just a regular criminal and killer though.” 

“You don't say?” said the man giving him a surprised look.

Sherlock felt a bit wobbly under his feet when he was hit with those intense blue eyes looking over him with pure interest. 

“Yes...” he cleared his throat. “Would you like to dance?”

“I'm not gay,” the man seemed to panic a little. 

“That doesn't answer my question,” smirked Sherlock.

“Well...” the man hesitated nervously. “We don't even know each other.”

“By your shoes, stance, and haircut I say you are military, ex-military by the position you hold your body and the tremor in your hand. You are probably a medical man based on your nails, you also leaned forward in interest when you read the text about Dillinger's medical history, and you have faint smell of antiseptic. You also smell of perfume, a woman taller than you, or wearing heals, hugged you in a friendly manner not long ago. Your, obviously borrowed, suit smells of expensive cologne that is over your price range. You are being very careful not to dirty the suit so you don't have time to dry-clean it before returning it, thereby likely that the owner doesn't even know you are wearing it. The woman, who is your friend in a non-sexual way, is probably distracting the owner even as we speak.”

“That's amazing,” gasped the man in pure awe.

“Most people tell me to piss off.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He had a unsettling feeling that Mycroft or Gregory could have had set this meeting up. It was too perfect, and too easy. But also too easy for being one of his brother's plans. 

“Yes,” said the shorter man stretching his back as if to gather courage. “We can dance, but I will not promise anything more.”

“More than enough,” said Sherlock and led him to the dance floor.

Soon they were caught up in the music, their dancing, a conversation of clever deductions over the other guests, and in each other's eyes. Neither of them noticed Mycroft and Gregory smiling, or Jim and Sebastian glaring.

())))))))

John was having so much fun dancing with the tall handsome and intelligent man he didn't even know the name of, that he didn't notice that the time was closing in to midnight. He was giggling infernally at a comment about a lady's love of sugar-powdered toffees when he glanced to his watch and noticed the time. 

“Bugger!” he hissed and pulled away from the arms embracing him. 

“Wait...!”

“I have to go....” John knew the great trouble Molly would be in if Irene, Jim, and Sebastian found out she had helped him. 

He looked over his shoulder and noticed his dance-partner following, and he really wanted to go back and explain. But then he saw that Jim was also following and decided that he must get the suit back first of all, to get Molly in the clear. 

As he hurried down the tall stairs to a single cab waiting outside he stumbled on his bad leg and lost his shoe. He was to turn back to get it but noticed another man walking towards the cab, so he ran with one shoe and one sock. He got into the cab and told him the address of the club.

When he turned back, looking through the rear window, he could see a tall man with wild curly hair holding on to a shoe. John sighed, he had had so fun with the man, and he didn't even know his name. 

()))))))))

Greg and Mycroft stepped inside Sherlock's abysmal and small flat the next day. They had had a good evening at the ball and had enjoyed seeing Sherlock actually having fun. They had lost track of him some time around midnight, but guessed the he and his new friend had gone somewhere more quiet. 

They now found Sherlock sitting on the sofa, still in his nice suit from the night before, with his hands stapled over his lips, staring at a shoe.

“What's going on?” asked Lestrade. “I thought you hooked up last night.”

“An abysmal phrase, Inspector,” said Sherlock taking the shoe in his hands and turning it between his fingers. “Since this one escaped the hook and got away.”

“He dumped you? Already?” Mycroft frowned and looked confused as Greg nudged his shoulder. “But you were getting on so well.”

“I wasn't dumped!” huffed Sherlock. “I said that he got away. I'm going to find him. And this shoe he dropped will help me.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Greg. “Make every guest at the party try it on?”

“Don't ridiculous!” Sherlock gave his almost-friend a glare, and stood up to almost push the shoe in his face. “You are a police officer. You should see the evidence before you!”

Greg took a step back. 

“I could look for him on the guest list,” said Mycroft.

“By the look of him he had one of the extra invitations that your colleagues _fixed up_ to their more _less fortunate_ connections. Anyway, I don't know his name.”

“What?”

“It never came up,” Sherlock shrugged.

“It's usually the first thing that should come up.”

Sherlock glared at him. 

“Fine,” sighed Mycroft, taking a seat the sofa. “Tell us about the shoe.”

Sherlock looked pleased as Greg also sat down to listen, and took a breath. 

“As I established last night John, I call him _John_ because he was interested in the John Dillinger case, is ex-army. This shoe is a uniform dress shoe distributed to three different army corps. He was a medic that was injured in battle, most likely then deployed to Iraq or Afgahnistan. There are a few grains of red sand under the insole that suggest Afganistan because of the ground there contain more iron, but I can't know for sure without chemical analysis. The left side of the shoe is slightly worn, but only slightly, he has a psychosomatic limp and doesn't wear these shoes often. There are also soil on the underside that suggest the east side of London. There is also glitter...”

“Glitter?” interrupted Greg.

“Yes!” Sherlock held up a finger, with a few tiny specks of sparkle on the tip of it, in front of the DI's nose. “Body-glitter to be exact. Now, together with the fact that he has a female friend who can occupy a suit-less man for several hours...”

Greg and Mycroft exchanged a worried look.

“...he must work at a place with entertainment of sexual nature...”

“I'm not sure if I want him to find this man,” whispered Greg to Mycroft, who looked slightly worried. 

“If I'm not mistaken there was a woman with the characteristics of a dominatrix at the ball last night... He stepsons tried to convince me to have sex with them in the cloakroom...”

“From now on I'm only giving out personally named invitations to my parties,” murmured Mycroft.  

“ _John_ looked at them a couple of times. I thought it was because they looked jealous, but it could be they knew each other. The three of them had expensive designer clothes on, so their business must be top rate. So, in conclusion, a place of sexual entertainment, classy and discrete enough to lure politicians, in the east of London, a proprietress, her stepsons Jim and Sebastian...”

“I'll make enquiries,” said Mycroft reluctantly, taking up his phone. “But only if you are really sure, Sherlock. Are you sure?”

Sherlock took a deep breath.

“I think I'm in love with him.”

 Mycroft pushed the dial and put the phone to his ear. 

((((())

Irene had ordered John to clean and inspect The Chamber, which was the session room for the most hardcore deviants on the club's customer list. She knew that John felt sick by the mere thought of the room, and usually she made the inspections herself, but this was his punishment. 

He was sure it would be a long time before he was allowed out again, even to see his sister at the hospice. Since he relied on other people driving him there those visits were sparse as they were. 

Jim and Sebastian were really angry with him for taking away their prize at the ball. It seemed like they didn't only loose a shag in John's dancing partner, but also a business opportunity. Apparently the guy was related to some very top notch, rich, and influential people, he even had a saying with the police. John had taken their golden goose away from them just by showing up.

In a way, thought John as he looked over foot after foot of metal chains, he was glad to spare his handsome man from falling into the stepbrothers dirty claws. _His handsome man_? Where had that come from? John shook his head and walked over to check if any of the gags needed replacing. 

A red rubber gag was cracking at the fastenings. Though John had no desire what so ever for breath play or gagging, he could see the disappointment of equipment breaking during a session. He took the gag to the supply room to replace it.  

On his way back he passed by the open door to the bar room. He stopped dead in his tracks. There was the tall handsome man. Standing in the middle of the room, talking to Jim. The man was wearing a long dark-blue greatcoat with a matching scarf around his neck. A slightly older man, with silvering hair and beige raincoat, was next to him.

“...about this tall,” John's dancing partner held up his hand to John's height. “Blond, blue eyes. You seemed acquainted with him at the ball.”

“I remember you dancing with such a man,” said Jim giving the man a sexy once over. “You looked gorgeous, by the way. But I don't know him. Sorry.”

John was about to gasp and head into the room in a very indignant way, when the gag was pulled from his hand and placed over his mouth to pull him backwards. He struggled, but his assailant, Sebastian, had the upper hand. John was dragged into a adjoining room. The gag was tight.

“Now you sit here like a good little boy and be quiet,” hissed Sebastian threateningly, tying John's hands and legs expertly together with white cotton rope. “If not, you'll be lucky if you'll have enough left to work with for Mummy to turn you into a gimp. You are not screwing this up for us again! Do you understand?”

Sebastian slapped John's face hard enough to draw tears to his eyes. 

“Understand?”

John nodded, breathing hard through the gag. Sebastian nodded too, gave John another hard slap, and them left the room. John cried slightly as a minor PTSD attack took over and made his body tremor uncontrollably and everything went dark.

()))))

He didn't know how long it had been when he felt gentle hands pull at his restraints. John began to struggle.

“Shh,” hushed a female voice. “I'm trying o help you.”

“Oh-ii,” managed John from behind the gag. 

“Yes,” Molly smiled and took off the restraining red rubber. “You need to leave now.”

“What about you?” John got up to his feet. “Jim will turn you into shoes if he finds out.”

“I'm leaving too,” she said. “That client from yesterday, with the suit, we have been seeing each other for a while now. His job is moving him to America and he asked if I wanted to go with him. He said that he would pay for me to go to nursing school.”

“In exchange for you to discipline him?”

“Of course,” she giggled with a smirk.

()))))))

Sherlock desperately wanted to leave, but he knew that his _John_ was somewhere in the building. Jim and Sebastian was obviously lying. They were also trying to seduce him. He looked around for Gregory, but the DI had been whisked away by the proprietress and there by had troubles of his own. 

“A drink, Mr Holmes?” asked Jim. “On the house?”

“I don't drink,” said Sherlock. “It numbs the mind.”

“And what a lovely mind it is,” Jim drew his thumb over Sherlock's slightly parted lips.

“Don't touch him!” 

Sherlock looked to we're the voice had been coming from. He smiled in relief when he saw the man from yesterday, but his stomach curled as he noticed the beginnings of a large bruise on the man's face. 

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock gasped.

“How do you know my name?”

“I'm a genius,” shrugged Sherlock, feeling happy with himself for managing to choose the correct name with out even trying.

“What are you doing here?” spat Jim. “Don't you have some cleaning to do?”

“No!” John walked up to Jim, staring menacingly up at him. “I'm going to do something that I should have done long ago! I quit!”

“You can't quit!” Jim curled his lips to a humourless smile. “You owe us!”

“I don't give a fuck!” John pushed Jim in the chest. “You can have the house!”

“The house is basically ours already. What about Harry?” 

“I can take care of Harry myself!”

“Harry's my girlfriend,” interrupted Irene with harsh voice. “I should have some say in that...”

“That's up to her when she gets better.”

Irene was about to say something, but there seemed to be something new in John that made her stop and look away.

“And where would you be?” mocked Jim not getting distracted. “You don't have any money. You and your sister will be dying on the street!”

Sherlock could see that John knew Jim was right, by the sinking of his shoulders. Without a house, and only John's army pension, he and this Harry, would soon starve, even if they left London. John took a breath. Jim smirked. Sherlock cleared his throat.

“I believe I can be in assistance in that regard,” he said. “I've recently found a new abode since they are throwing me out of my old one, but have been looking for a flatmate. And if your sister is sick, then I'm sure we can work something out.”

Sherlock felt quite proud over his suggestion, he knew it was a good one because he could see Greg nod in the corner of his eye. 

“Are you sure?” John hesitated.

“I don't like repeating myself. The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street.”

They looked at each other for moment before John gave a honest nod.

“I accept!”

Sherlock pulled the dress shoe out of his coat pocket. 

“You dropped this.”

“Thank you,” John laughed as he took the shoe in his hands.

“Don't you think this is over,” growled Jim. 

“I don't think it is over,” said John taking Sherlock's arm. “I think it's just beginning.”

Sherlock took that as his cue to turn flamboyantly with John on his arm, and walking towards the door. 

“Come along,” he said, pulling John closer to him. “I'm going to show you a most glorious crime scene.”

“Eh” said Greg hurrying after them. “Sherlock...”

())o

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson carried on to move into the flat on Baker Street. They solved many crimes together and became the very best of friends. Jim Moriarty, and his stepbrother Sebastian, did seek revenge on them, but that is a whole different story entirely.

THE END


End file.
